


Ivory

by Niccolò Machiavelli (Piccolo_Machiavelli)



Category: 15th Century CE RPF, 16th Century CE RPF, Historical RPF, Machiavelli - Fandom
Genre: In which Machiavelli writes a letter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-26
Updated: 2016-06-26
Packaged: 2018-07-18 07:46:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7305874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Piccolo_Machiavelli/pseuds/Niccol%C3%B2%20Machiavelli
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A heartfelt letter from Niccolò to a very special prostitute.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ivory

_It was a dark and stormy night._

I put down the pen and stared at the parchment frustratedly. The better phrase to use would have been “This expression is overused and trite”. Francesco Vettori had written to me regarding a mistress, requesting details on our first encounter. I did not know or care what he intended to do with them, but it was a welcome break from conniving and scheming. After all, I have nothing better to do now that I have been sent to live on the outskirts of Florence. And thus, I try this again.

Words cannot express how much I miss Florence. It is beautiful here, yes, I will say that, but it does not compare to the city I lived in. It tortures me when I can see it out my windows, taunting me, but remaining out of reach. I have been reduced to a lowly peasant and a scoundrel, picking weeds and harvesting crops just to create a meal. Farm work is abhorrent and physically exhausting. It does wonders to an aging man’s body but dulls his mind at the same time. There is no better exercise of the mind than to debate, discuss, and meddle in the affairs of princes and higher officials. The Medici have scorned me, leaving me to force myself into basic pleasures such as drinking or playing at a local tavern. It cannot be denied that one of my favorite parts of Florence was its abundant supply of supple women. I can remember one in particular, a tall, slender woman with a starkly pale face and a warm gaze. The first time I met her, it was indeed a dark and stormy night, and she was aiding me home after I had become too inebriated. A local peasant, after a few drinks, challenged me to a fight over a woman, and I could not refuse. She was sitting there the whole time, smiling as she watched us argue for her affections. That woman knew neither me or this rabble, but she was enjoying the attention we both paid her. I made a fool out of myself when our war on words turned into a physical altercation. Peasantry and hard labor is only useful for strength, I suppose, since I possessed superior intelligence but lacked the finesse to combat my opponent. It was she who picked my half-conscious body off of the ground and dragged me out of the tavern. It was advantageous to have a house next to it; her frail arms could not have pulled me much farther than that distance. 

She helped me, as I was stumbling and babbling incoherently like a drunkard, into the house. I managed to crawl towards my bed, though she giggled when she saw how lame my body was. 

“You should go to sleep. I’ve never seen someone act so rashly and with such reckless abandon before. Have you ever seen me?” the woman inquired, yanking my body upright. It hurt like hell, as most of my body was bruised and aching. 

All I could do was crane my neck in confusion. I was at a point where I could barely form words. I was captivated by her beauty. From a sobered perspective, the woman looked as if I could fit a ring around her waist, and she was a sickly shade of pale. I was too intoxicated to ask for her name - or if I did, I just don’t remember it - but all I could focus on was her immaculate, parchment-colored face. 

I settled on the name Ivory. It fit her, really. I’ll be damned if I could think of something other than her skin or how her hips seemed to sway when she walked away in that dress of hers. I cannot recall responding to her question or what her reply was, but all I can bring forward from that moment was her caressing my face and washing blood off of me with a cold cloth. I shuddered, mentally berating myself when I pictured kissing those plump lips of hers.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you,” she crooned, planting a kiss on my head. I recoiled out of surprise and fell over. I wanted nothing more than to be relieved from the curse of intoxication. There was a beautiful (at least, I thought so then) woman in front of me, trying to seduce me, and here I was, suavely collapsing and staring up at the ceiling.

I managed to force out a reply in mangled Italian that resembled _“Grazie”._ She was tantalizing me, taunting me, and I could make out her gestures from the floor. Ivory switched her legs over the other when she stood to stare at me, smirk on her face, sliding her hand down the wall as if to gain my attention. She wanted me, in my drunken state and all, and who was I to deny her myself?

“Such an odd man you are,” I vaguely remember her musing as she pushed her body off of the wall and knelt down on the floor beside me. “Watching me, are you?” She snaked her agile hands around my body, leaning closer to my face.

“Mmm-hmm,” I mumbled, extending my hand to caress her face and smacking her in the cheek instead. I expected her to run away, or at least slap me back for my insolence, but she inched ever closer, pushing against me and rocking me in her arms.

“Are you interested in me?” she prepositioned me, pecking at all the areas she could reach on my face. It was humiliating to be sitting on the ground, being rocked in the arms of a prostitute while staring off into nothingness with glassy eyes, feeling her skin on mine as she embraced me, but what was more humiliating still was the fact that I had no control over my body. I was a slave to the liquor’s effects and could do nothing when a feeling of lust overtook me. It made me aware of nothing and everything all at once, nothing but her and everything about her perfect face.

It took me but a moment to breathlessly gasp, _“Sì.”_

And yes, we slept together. On the floor. She didn’t even bother to move me, and I was too weak to pull myself off of the floor and get on my bed. It was that one special night. After I woke up, half undressed, I was left with a lingering memory of her. Her name in my mind. Ivory. And I’ll be damned if I ever see her again. The way her body felt against mine was...

Forgive me. Marietta is screeching my name from somewhere downstairs and Lodovico is peering over my shoulder. He’s still a young lad and he doesn’t need to see this. I swear I’ll tell you more later, but for now, my other duty is beckoning me. The duty that I am most devoted to, of course - my family.

Please, do let me know if you ever see a thin, pale girl with ruby-red lips. I’ve been looking for her ever since. If she encounters you, tell her the old drunkard is waiting ever-so-patiently for his Ivory to wander back home and into his arms.

N.M.


End file.
